


Things you shouldn't know

by UnknownGirlClegane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Don't Judge Me, F/M, Future Fic, Go home author you are drunk, I'm Not Ashamed, Mind Reading, Post ADWD, Sexual Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Warging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownGirlClegane/pseuds/UnknownGirlClegane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a feast, Sansa wakes up with a bad hangover and her warg abilities unleashed. Unluckily for Sandor Clegane, it seems that the only mind she can explore is his own.</p><p>This will be a very short piece of work, and much lighter than my other one. It's just for fun, so enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ...but know all the same

Sansa awoke with a thrumming headache, with the unpleasant feeling that the universe had decided overnight to revolve around her. On the back of her mouth was a faint taste of vomit, and she felt a new wave of nausea before she was fully conscious.

Her eyelids seemed to be glued in position, and it was with difficulty that she opened her eyes. Her room was already invaded by pale rays of sunshine. 

She remembered the feast. She remembered dancing with many a lord, flirting with some, and avoiding others. She remembered laughing with Jon as he told her funny tales. She remembered retiring for sleep, her steps unstable, and leaning on Sandor Clegane's arm for support.

_Did he carry me here?_

She could not remember. the last thing she could picture was her running to throw up out of a window.

She had not the strength to be ashamed. She doubted she could even get up... But in the end, feeling the increasing pressure on her bladder, she decided it was worth the risk and carefully swifted towards the edge of the bed.

After she had made water - and once she had ascertained that she could stand tolerably well - she made for the door, intending to call for a servant to help her dress.

The door opened just then, and Pam, one of her maids, came in carefully with a water basin under he arm. From her countenance, it was plain that she had not expected her mistress to be awake.

"Lady Sansa" she bowed respectfully.

"Good morning, Pam. I was just about to call for you. Why did you not wake me?".

The girl bit her lip. "I am sorry, milady. Ser Clegane said you were unwell, and he commanded me to let you rest". 

"I am feeling rather better today" Sansa said, feigning indifference. "It must have been the food".

Pam seemed to struggle to look credulous, and set the basin on its stand. "Here, lady Stark".

It took them a while longer to make Sansa presentable, but in the end she managed to slip in one of her plainest dresses, and she made for the kitchens looking for something to eat, and declining Pam's offers to fetch something in her stead.

Sansa knew she had done well as soon as she was in the corridor. The fresh air that was blowing from an open window was regenerating. Even her head was hurting less.

Half an hour later she was in the Godswood, a small bundle with three lemoncakes in a hand, and a flash of honeyed wine resting in her lap.

She ate slowly, not wanting to upset her unstable belly. She was halfway through the second cake, when a familiar voice asked in a raspy voice, "struggling against an hangover, aren't we?".

Sandor Clegane limped towards her, the left side of his face fully in view under the morning sun. Though his scars didn't bother her much anymore, they were still a pityful sight, made even worse by the cold and the hardships of the war that had just ended. The flesh was twisted, looking hard and dark like a steak left to burn unnoticed by an inexperienced cook. A portion of white bone was left exposed, and his burned mouth curled almost painfully whenever he spoke, giving to his every expression a devilish look.

Now that he was smiling at her - or rather smirking, for he never smiled - he looked even uglier, and yet she barely noticed.

"Ser" she greeted him, ignoring his remark. "Will you give me the pleasure of your company?".

He snorted. "A dog's company can hardly afford pleasure to a proper little lady like you" he said, sitting down at a reasonable distance f _rom her. Would that you would give me the pleasure of your cunt._  


Sansa turned to him, bewildered. Could he really have said..?

"Pardon me?".

"What?" he asked, apparently surprised at her shocked expression. "What is it, little bird?".

"What did you say?".

"Nothing worth repeating" he said, shrugging. 

Sansa bit her lip, her heart beating fast. "Forgive me. I heard you saying something about pleasure in return".

"Aye. I said I can give you but little with my company" he said, slowly, scanning her intently. She looked away. "You all right, girl? You look pale". _Pale and beautiful like these summer shows._  


She turned to face him again. It was rare for him to compliment her so openly, and after such a night, she was hardly deserving such uncensored praise.

"Thank you" Sansa said, colouring slightly. "I am well. More or less. I... have a slight headache".

"Aye, I don't wonder, after last night's blow".

Sansa was puzzled. "Blow?".

"So you don't remember? I should't wonder. You were quite drunk" he said, sneering at the memory of his perfectly well-bred mistress stumbling drunkenly about the castle. "You hit a wall. Hard, right on your pretty face".

A strangely vivid image of her slamming against the stone wall appeared before her eyes, and with it, a queer form of... Amusement. 

She touched her forehead. "I felt quite sick" she confessed.

"I had to carry you to your room".

Ashamed again, she looked down at the weirwood roots.

_I wanted to drop you down to the bed and fuck you right away. You wouldn't even remember it now._

She froze. Her heart quickened again, and she felt a rush of heat through her body. She couldn't believe it. Why would he say such a thing to her?

She looked at him. "What?".

Sandor Clegane seemed taken aback by her question. "I carried you, girl".

"No" she said, voice trembling. She didn't understand. Why did he look so calm, so unconcerned? "After. After that".

"What the fuck are you talking about? I said nothing else".

"You did!" Sansa said, jumping on her feet, shaking in agitation. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. And this confusion she felt... Why did it feel so foreign?

He got on his feet as well. "You are not well".

"I heard you!" she said, almost screaming. "You said... You said...".

"Girl...".

"You said you wanted to drop me on the bed and fuck me!" she shrieked, just as he reached for her. Sandor froze halfway through the gesture, and his darek grey eyes fixed on her in something like horror. "What?".

"Don't pretend you didn't say it! I heard you, I say!" she said. Why was he lying? She had heard him, for the Seven's sake!

She expected him to confirm it, or to deny it. She expected many things, but instead, he said, voice half choked, "how do you know?".

Silence fell on them like a curtain.

 


	2. ...and choose to ignore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a plan. Not a very good one.

"Let me get this straight" Jon Snow said, putting both hands on the big table, palms down, and looking alternately at his cousin and her sworn shield. "You have woken up this morning - just like usual - and you have found out that you can read Clegane's mind"

Sansa didn't dare to raise her eyes from her lap. "Not like usual" she muttered, quite unladilikely. "I had... drunk a little. I hit my head, and when I woke up, I thought... I didn't feel any different, but for my headache".

"Until you met Clegane".

The scarred soldier flinched whenever Jon said his name, but aside from that was as quiet and still as a stone.

"Until I met him, yes. Then I felt a little confused at first. I felt... strange". Sansa managed a quick look at Jon, before her eyes went down again. "Like my feelings didn't belong to me anymore".

_I know how that feels, bugger me._

Sansa started as the thought came, with the bitterness that came with it. She didn't want to answer it either,so she didn't. "Then I could hear him,even when he wasn't speaking. I could see... Pictures as well. Not very clear, but now they are more nitid".

Sansa could not believe she was vouching such thoughts aloud, she could not believe it could be real. That Jon was a warg she had long known and accepted, but that she should share even part of his abilities was unthought of. She didn't even had her direwolf anymore. She was no longer a child of the North.

Yet there she was, pulling her lips together nervously, as Jon scrutinised her gravely, and another man didn't, though his thoughts revolved around her as well, fixed on her mouth, on kissing it...

She looked up at Sandor Clegane, who accurately avoided her stare. Sansa pinched her arm under the table to focus on something else. To feel what he felt was wrong, partly because he was thinking of her, and partly because...

Well, Sansa had never thought he liked her that much.

To her, Sandor Clegane had always been a sworn shield and a trusted counsellor. She had learned to rely on him, to admire him even, but she had known him since she was naught more than a scared child, and she would never had supposed that he would... That he thought...

  
_What is she thinking?_ His thoughts were buzzing in the back of her head like an unwelcome conversation between two strangers. She could see herself mirrored in his mind as he watched her, and could sense his uneasiness.

"I see".

"Cousin" Sansa locked her blue eyes with those of the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. "I am speaking in earnest. I know it is hard to believe...",

"I do believe you, Sansa".  the boy said, more softly. "Of course I do. Warging into a beast is easy, but when you try with men, it is hard. Clegane is a strong man. If you touch his mind, he won't just step aside. You might reach him, not win him". He sighed. "Still, some things I don't understand".

Feeling Sandor's frustration adding to her own, it was difficult for Sansa to keep quiet and let Jon follow. 

"First of all, if you are touching him, why wouldn't he had noticed?".

Sansa meditated on it... and found that she could not find an answer. She didn't need to. Sandor Clegane had, and he spoke for the first time since they had arrived.

"Fuck, how would I know it wasn't just fancy? She..." 

  
_She is so sweet and delicate she even warged inside me carefully_ , he thought. Then, consciousness of her presence inside his head even then seemed to halt him, and he fell silent.

"I wasn't trying. Maybe that's why" she finished for him.

"But then, why would you only hear his thoughts of all people?" Jon argued, and Clegane seemed to find it a most interesting point. Sansa turned to give her sworn shield a nasty look of warning.

"He was with me back then. Perhaps I recognise him better for that, and because he is my... friend".

Friend.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?" Jon said, wearily.  And with that, he simply got up, gave a little, sorry smile at Sansa, a warning look at Sandor, and left, leaving them alone together.

Sansa was too embarassed to look up... and she didn’t need to. His mind was laid in full view in front of her. He was angry, and confused, but that was nothing – he was nervous, almost embarrassed. 

Sansa had never thought that Sandor Clegane could know about such feeling, for he never seemed anything but angry, or bitter, or drunk. When she stole a glance at him he was there, looking down at his fingers thrumming on the table, his brow furrowed, his expression unreadable. 

There was no mistaking it, however:  he was uneasily, and angry with himself for feeling uneasy. He was feeling vulnerable, and he didn’t like it in the slightest. _Will she ever talk, the Gods be damned?_  


She flinched, he looked up, she looked elsewhere.

_Can she read my every thought then?_

“I don’t know” she said, in a tiny voice.

His anger was even worse now. He was angry at her for hearing him, and at himself for letting his thoughts out so easily. I ca _n’t_ , he thought. _I can’t stay here, bugger me._  


“Wait!” Sansa broke out, before he moved. She looked at him, feeling bolder. after all, she could read his mind and prevent his every move. “Can’t we speak?”.

_She really does hear every fucking thought._

She waited, knowing what would happen. Trembling beneath the rage, something softer was struggling to be heard, something that wanted… what? To hear her? She could not grasp it, and it was gone, but Sandor Clegane was not.

“What is it that you want to tell me? I can’t see what happens inside that pretty little head of yours, unlike you”. _how much can she see? Does she…_  


Sansa could not hear the rest. It seemed some of his thoughts were muffled, as if he was trying to hide them. Perhaps he was. As Jon had said, Clegane was a strong man, and it was unlikely that she could grasp his mind in its fullness.

“I am sorry” Sansa said, gently. “I know – I can feel what you feel. It must be truly unpleasant to – not to have any privacy anymore. I –“.

Again some stirring she could not understand. “Do you want me to leave?” he said, abruptly.

She was caught by surprise. She had not seen it coming, had not seen the words form in his head. “No!” she said, quickly. “I – am not – that is not what I wanted to –“ she paused. Among the confused bundle inside his head, a quick flicker of relief, and something else. _How she blushes… Seven Hells_.

“Why would I want you to leave?” she asked, hoping that she could find an answer inside him, if not in his words.

“Why would you want me to stay?” he asked, matter-of-factly, but he knew that she knew he was not indifferent to the thought, and he was angry again, and angry that she should see it, that she should see everything.

“I can’t read your every thought” she assured him. “Only some of them. Those who are – clearer”.

“So it doesn’t bother you?” Sandor asked. 

“What?” Sansa asked, although she knew the answer.

“Do you like what you see?” he said, in what looked half a sneer, and half a silent cry of agony.

“I don’t understand what I see” she said, uncomfortable. She knew now that he had… thoughts on her. So what? All men had such thoughts, Myranda had told her.

“Don’t you, now?” he snorted, while in his head relief was blooming like a small, hopeful flower. 

She hesitated. What was she supposed to say? She needed time to process the knowledge her… her power. The knowledge of what she’d found in his head, too.

“I am sorry for being in your head” she said at  last. “But you don’t have to leave in that account. I can – I will learn how to control this. Jon will teach me, you heard him. So perhaps – perhaps we just need some rest. We both are weary in body and spirit”.

Yes. _Weary_ , he thought, but he was still relieved. Relieved to have an excuse to flee from the room, but also relieved that she wasn’t eyeing him in distaste. _How can she be so calm?_  


Because, Sansa wanted to answer, I don’t know what to make of what I’ve seen. She didn’t want to say it, however. Better leave it unsaid. Better let him think she could hear very little. She didn’t want him to dread her presence.

“Aye” he said, hoarsely. 

“But you won’t leave, will you? you promised me you’d protect me”.

  
_Aye, I promised her that_. She could not hear what followed. He was shutting her out again, and she felt some sort of… disappointment. Sandor Clegane had always been a mystery to her. It would have been good to know his heart for once.

 

Back in her room, Sansa was finally alone with her thoughts, and they turned automatically to Sandor Clegane.

He wants me!, she thought, dazed. And I never noticed.

How could it be? She was not sure. Surely there had been signs before, little things she had failed to understand. Surely he watched her a great deal. Sometimes he complimented her, but he never trespassed property.

_But he wants me!_

Sansa started pacing nervously across the room, biting her lip in deep thought. There was no mistaking what she had heard. He surely had thought – but really, she should not think of it. Men had appetites, as she had learned. Sometimes Clegane had told her so himself, warning her never to trust her lords and knights. Somehow, she had never thought that he – her protector – could feel the same way.

  
_How can I look at him now, knowing what he thinks of me? I will never, never be able to face him again_. 

What should she do now, knowing that he wanted… he wanted…

  
_What if he does?_ She thought, irritated _. All men have such thoughts, and yet I never forget what’s due to them._  


Huffing nervously, she began to undress herself, trying to think of something else. This was nonsense, complete nonsense! She knew she was pretty, she knew men found her attractive. It made no difference to hear it, surely. She was acting like a child, when she was not one, not anymore.

She slipped into her favorite nightgown, humming softly to keep her mind occupied.

_I wanted to drop you down to the bed and fuck you right away._

Sansa shook her head. She would not dwell on it, she decided. It would all be well. No reason to think about Sandor Clegane at all. No reason to remember the pictures she had seen inside his mind.

  
_Yes, all will be well_ , she determined.

And so she went to bed.

 

Sansa woke up the next morning feeling happier and bolder. After a good night’s sleep, she could not see things as dark as the evening before. She needed only to think of something else, whenever Sandor  Clegane’s thoughts reached her. She would learn very soon to control her strange ability.

She had a plan, very simple and, she thought, bound to prove successful. Even if she did hear him, there was no use in telling Sandor Clegane, unless it was absolutely necessary. If he thought that she really couldn’t read him but very, very sporadically, surely he would feel better, and he would not wish to leave at all. She didn’t have to lie – she didn’t want to – but she could omit something here and there.

Having settled all that between herself, she didn’t fear to face him. Pam arrived, and she chose one of her simplest dresses, a grey, woolen gown that didn’t leave much skin bare. She didn’t want to tempt him.

She felt him before he knocked at her door, felt a dim sense of dread. She wore her brightest smile, hoping to show him that nothing had changed and that, whatever she might or might not hear, it made absolutely no difference to her.

“Yes?” she asked, as if she didn’t know who was knocking.

“You ready, little bird?”.

She opened her door, grinning at him. 

He looked at her as if she was drunk, or mad, or both. _What in the Seven Hells…_  


She reduced her smile a little, adjusting it into decent limits. “Good morning, my lord. I trust you slept well?”.

  
_Has she hit her head again?_ he was thinking, puzzled and suspicious. He silently surveyed her, and she noticed for the first time the signs of a sleepless night on his face. Even his scars looked tense. She wanted to say something to assure him of her mental sanity, but then she noticed his eyes flickering and pausing a moment too much on her chest, and she felt, with the authority that her powers gave her, that the dress she wore was one of his favourites, that it clinged to her figure in the most becoming way, and made her teats look fuller.

It startled her, and she hid it one second too late. He had noticed, and he was frustrated again, and angry, and very, very uneasy.

“We are late” she squeaked, with none of the impassible grace she had planned, “I think they are waiting for us downstairs”.

He turned grimly away and made for the stairs, walking so fast she had to run to keep his pace. Sansa blamed herself for it, but she hoped he would forget it soon. She would conceal her thoughts better next time.

His thoughts were black as his face, but she could not discern much. She could guess that he was humiliated, and could hardly blame him – after all, he was displaying his one-sided lust to the very person that was the object of it.

Her appearance at the breakfast table was welcomed by all her lords with the outmost courtesy and good humor. Spring was finally bestowing a few days of glorious sunshine even in the cold North, and everybody was eager to have a taste of the clement weather.

Most of the lords had long returned to their castles. Those who remained were knights and noblemen from minor houses. Brienne  of Tarth and Jaime Lannister were the only notable exceptions, and they were sitting in a corner, quarreling in a low voice about the Gods only knew what.

Even Sansa’s siblings were missing. Arya had reluctantly accepted to pay a few month’s visit in the Vale, where the Blackfish held the rule for his nephew, Robin. Sansa suspected that Gendry Waters’ presence there as a ward of the Tully lord might have had some weight in her small sister’s decision. Rickon, on his own part, was confined in bed with a severe cold, and she would not bear him leaving his rooms for the world. As to Jon, he was out somewhere with the two black beothers, discussing some important matter about the Wall.

The fact that so many people were missing had allowed her to admit Sandor Clegane to her table. It had become a settled thing several weeks before, and no one found it strange anymore.

Today, however, having him sit by her side was making her nervous.

"My lady, you seem... Absent" Dorian Manderly told her. He was a foppish boy from a cadet branch of the House, and was quite popular among the ladies for, despite his being rather poor and not very skilled with a sword, he was stunningly beautiful.

Feeling that Clegane's eyes and attention were fixed on her, Sansa blushed. "I am a little tired, ser Manderly. That is all" she said to the boy, smiling.

  
_Would that I could strangle him with his own guts_ , Sandor thought, irritated, and she swallowed. This time, still, he didn't notice her reaction, and seemed to think she had not caught his thoughts at all.

As Clegane seemed to be elaborating fondly some creative ways to kill the boy without being caught, she deemed it prudent not to give Manderly more attention than what was strictly necessary. Instead, she reasoned, it would be kind of her to show to her friend that she was not resenting him for his thoughts on her.

"What are your plans for the day, my lord?" she asked Sandor, gently.

Some quick pictures passed in front of her eyes. Stranger huffing in the stables, the training yard, the dirty hall of a tavern, and what looked without doubt like the small brothel in Wintertown. She could have let it pass, but somehow it displeased her and she chose to show him she had seen it. Arching her eyebrow, she gave him a stern look.

He grew uncomfortable, but he challenged her with his grey eyes nonetheless. "What? My own time, my own coin" he grunted, struggling to look untouched by her silent reproach.

_I cannot fuck her, I might as well find someone else._

He had not planned to think it, and he repented it, but she pretended not to have heard it. Instead, she looked for something to say.

"You could ask Jon about... how to handle this". She didn't need to explain what _this_ was.

He didn't answer her. He wanted wine, not advice, apparently, for he swallowed two cups of Arvord Gold before he spoke again. "And you? Don't you need to handle this?".

"I am doing my best" she said, colouring. 

He muttered something and returned to his breakfast, but his mind still dwelled on their conversation, wondering how much she could hear now, what she knew.

_Why is she looking so calm?_

When Manderly tried to engage her in a conversation again, Sansa did not oppose him. If he didn't like it, he could say so. She wasn't supposed to read his mind, or to know that he liked or not. If he didn't do anything about it, why would she?

_Does she like him?_

She acted as if she wasn't hearing him, but his voice came clear, and so this his rage. _He is just a boy with a pretty face. The Stranger take him and his looks. Seven Hells._  


  
_Well, she wanted to tell him, that is more than you have_. Yet, truth be told, Sandor Clegane was not as ugly as one might think. His scars didn't bother her, and he was... He was...

She did not end that sentence. It did not matter who or what he was. She didn't care. Not in the slightest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for all your nice comments. Made me feel SO NOT GUILTY about not studying. So again, I didn't.  
> Instead I wrote this chapter like, four times. Still not happy with it. I just didn't have the energy to write it all over again, cause you know, not studying takes a lot of time and a lot of energy.  
> So enjoy. Or don't. Well, just let me know.  
> Hope you guys spent a nice Valentine day. If you had a crappy one, well, maybe this chapter will cheer you up. Or not. Whatever.


	3. ...and strive to learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed, and things between Sansa and Sandor are tense.

A soft knock on the door announced that Sandor Clegane had come. Sansa jumped off the stool, feeling slightly excited. She quickly checked herself in the mirror. The dress she wore was one of the three she had commissioned to the village tailor – she had grown so much in the last half year that most of the old dresses she possessed were too short by now.

This one was very different in style and fabric from those she was used to wear. It was lighter than the others, its neckline cut much lower, so that she was almost ashamed at her own audacity. It was in ivory and light yellow stripes, and the color was very becoming, more than she would have thought. Yes, she liked it, and it made her think of the approaching spring. She had left her hair fall freely on her shoulders in soft ringlets, only a golden bonnet to keep them from covering her forehead.

I wonder, Sansa asked herself. What will Sandor think of this?

“Yes?” she asked.

“Are you ready, girl?”

She went to the door and opened it. The man looked at her, and before he shut his barriers around himself, she caught a hint of true admiration in him.

“Yes, I am” she said, a little disappointed. These three weeks he had gotten so much better in controlling his own thoughts that she but seldom managed to hear something from him. It was a pity. “What do you think of my dress, Sandor?” The first time she had called him that, some days before, he had gaped at her in amazement. The fact was that being in his head had made her used to think of him as “Sandor”. It had shocked him, enough to open a gap in his walls, but only for a while.

“A good dress, I think”. Sansa might not be able to penetrate the mists around his heart, but she could still hear that there was a struggle going on. It was plain to her that he did like the dress well enough, and the more so since he cared so much as to hide the extent of his approbation.

“Do you like it?” she insisted, looking at him.

A brief pause. “Aye, girl” he said slowly. “I do”. And he did, she knew.

“You must learn how to compliment a lady, sooner or later” Sansa said, still a little disappointed that he should not say anything nice.

“What for?” he asked, indifferently.

She shrugged, not very elegantly. “Let’s go, shall we?” she murmured.

They walked side by side, but he did not offer her his arm. One thing they had learned was that no mental defense could work against physical contact. Whenever she touched him, his whole soul stood bare in front of her, no matter how hard he fought, or how little she tried.

That was why he had hardly touched her for weeks.

She had half a mind to take his arm, taking him by surprise. Maybe when they were not alone, so that he could not pull away for fear to slight her in front of her own bannermen… but he had been very careful until now to avoid any possible accident of that sort.

Every now and then, Sansa would still take Sandor off guard. An accidental brush, or even a slip of thought on his part, would open him to her, allowing her to see deeper inside him, and more often than not he would not realize it. The girl never told him. They never spoke of Sansa’s power unless it was necessary.

She had been surprised to feel how conscious Sandor Clegane was of her presence. Sometimes he would be thinking about her. Six days before, she had accidentally touched him as he remembered a dream he had dreamed the night before. Such a vivid dream of her, and so shocking she still blushed whenever she recalled it. The gasp that had escaped her had betrayed her, and he had not touched her since, not even once.

Well, she was conscious of him as well, in a different way. She could sense him, even when he was not to be seen. Shadows of his moods affected her sometimes, some subtly, some strongly.

Sansa sighed. Immediately, his eyes darted to her, looking for evidence of a stolen thought. She looked back at him, innocently, and his scars tightened.

“I am so happy” she said, after a while.

Sandor snorted. “Excited for your little feast?”

“Yes” she said, cheerfully. “I have been so bored of late”.

“Aye. Nothing exciting happened” he grunted.

“Well, what use are warging powers if I don’t have a soul around to keep me company?” His expression was quite neutral, but she guessed what he meant. “Well, you are certainly no good company lately. You never speak to me”.

Sansa felt his annoyance raging from beyond his walls, and guessed again. “I have not been reading you” the girl reassured him. “Just a lucky guess”.

He did not answer her. They had reached the yard, and two young boys were waiting with them with their horses. Spring had been mercifully turning the icy winds of winter into a placid breeze, and so she had settled on going to Wintertown. A small change of weather was exactly what she needed.

Sandor limped to take the reins of Stranger and Honeysuckle, leading them to her. She did not wait for him to help her settle in the saddle; she knew he didn’t want to touch her, and she wouldn’t ask him. She quietly took the reins and mounted Honeysuckle as graciously as she could, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

_One day I will learn to close my mind to him,_ she thought. _Maybe the idea of touching me won’t disgust him as much as it does now._ It was the strangest of facts, that one – that he should want her, and yet abhor any contact with her.

_Wouldn’t I feel the same, if someone had the power to see through me this way?_ , she asked herself.

_Not if it was him,_ she considered. _I know he would never hurt me._

“Driftwood seems quiet” she remarked. She refused to call the stallion by the name he had given to it. “Doesn’t the horse bite anyone that gets too close to it?”

“He is getting old” Sandor said, simply. “As am I” he added with a grunt, as he got on the horse with a grunt. His leg was stiff, and sometimes it pained him.

“You can scarcely be called an old man” she said to soothe him, smiling. “You are not so much my elder”

“Fifteen years is a long time, girl” he said. “For a swordsman especially”.

“You are still better than most men-at-arms” Sansa said.

“But not the best” he said dryly.

She was not convinced, but Sandor Clegane was not a man that sought compliments. “It’s not always the best fighter that wins” she merely said, as they passed the gates of the castle, heading towards the town.

“That much is true” Sandor agreed. “Experience has its weight. Luck, too. And any man can be killed, no matter how strong and skilled he is. Any man has weaknesses”.

Sandor had never been talkative. When Sansa managed to engage him in any sort of conversation, she always found he had more to say than anyone could guess. _If only I could read more of what he thinks,_ she thought. All she was hearing now was his calmness. He had relaxed.

“Can you see it? Your foe’s weakness, in battle?” the girl asked him, bending her head a little. “How can you spot it?” She was very curious.

“There is always something they don’t want you to see” he shrugged. “A helm not fastened properly, a spot left bare by the armor. If they try to hide it, then it’s worth the risk. If the blow lands there, you win. If not, they will know that you know, and they will be afraid. Fear makes them weak”.

_Fear is always a weakness,_ he thought. She heard it. When he was not focusing on keeping his walls high, it was easier for her to hear.

“Have you never been afraid to be killed?”

“No” Sandor said.

“Not even once?” she insisted.

He looked at her. “Death is easy, little bird. I have seen a lot of it” he rasped. “There is nothing to fear in death”.

“But it is impossible” she said. “Every man is afraid of something”.

“And so am I – but it is not death I fear”. His bluntness surprised her.

“You fear fire” Sansa hoped he would not resent her for saying it.

_Any kind of fire,_ he agreed. The girl pretended not to have heard. “Aye, I fear fire”.

“Is there anything else you fear?” It was a bold question. _He doesn’t want me to read him. Perhaps I can show him I do want to know him better._

“Trying to scare the dog away, are we?” he said, his mouth twitching on the burned side.

“Forgive me. It is a very personal question” Sansa apologized, blushing.

Sandor paused for a little while, looking at the snowy road in front of them. “I fear nightmares, little bird. Every night I see my brother shoving my head in the coals. I see ghosts of the men I have killed. They whisper to me”. He spoke flatly, not looking at her, but she could _see_. She saw pictures of past dread and long-dried blood, passing her too quickly for her to dwell on her, but still painful, even for her.

“I am sorry” she said, sweetly. “I did not want to make you think of these things”. She paused. “You don’t have to be afraid of the past, you know. You are a good man”.

“You don’t know it”.

“I know you better than most” Sansa retorted.

They rode in silence.

 

The room was crowded with people who had nothing to recommend them but their blood and titles. Hundreds of candles shone on the walls, braziers stood on every corner, and the three chandeliers hung from the ceiling in their mundane splendor. Sandor cared for none of it. He had seen his share of magnificence and ostentation back in King’s Landing, and in Castelry Rock even before that. He had long learned that beauty was like dust: a thin layer of filth that covered every surface but added nothing valuable to it.

Of course, there was one, single exception to that rule, and he was waiting for her, both relieved and irritated that he had been freed of his duties as Sansa Stark’s sworn shield for the night. He was worried when he was not with the girl, but at the same time, he did not want to be too close – close enough for her to hear him.

Sansa was late. Of course she would be with her maids, whose feminine arts would turn her from a little pretty girl into a moving portrait of the Maid. Every day seemed to add to her personal charms, every day she was more like a woman, less like a child. It had been a while, however, since she had dressed up for a special occasion.

_Why in the Seven Hells did she have to give a ball now?_ He asked himself. _Doesn’t this warging shit bother her in the slightest?_

This was no new thought to reflect on. Sansa Stark had taken it much better than he had. She had heard him, she knew what he wanted, but aside from a little blush here or a small embarrassed silence there, she had behaved like the little lady she had always been. As if it didn’t matter. As if she wasn’t disgusted by him, as if she wasn’t horrified from what she saw inside him.

He had not yet learned how to push her away completely. One thing, at least, he had kept to himself, too terrified to admit it.

_I love her. She must never see._

Just then, the girl made her appearance, escorted by one of her chatty friends, and Sandor’s throat went dry.

She wore a dress made out of blue and silver silks, so fluent and soft they moved like water at her every step, almost shining under the light. It clung to her body by the waist, but her neckline was cut low enough for him to see a hint of her white teats. She was wearing her hair down, her auburn curls free to caress her back. He had always liked her best like that, artless, beautiful… but he felt annoyed, knowing that anyone could see her.

Sandor looked at her, feeling as though his tongue had turned to ashes. Beauty was dust, aye, and it was stuck in his throat, choking him.

 

Sansa looked for Sandor as soon as she entered the ballroom. She felt strangely nervous knowing he would be there, waiting for her. She had relieved him of his duties, not wanting him to wait for her out of her rooms as she got ready for the evening. She wanted him to see her like anyone else, under the spell of a thousand lights.

She didn’t have to try to find him – as she had expected, he was standing next to the door, waiting. She didn’t have to reach for his thoughts, for they were clear enough. Sansa saw herself from his eyes, a beauty clad in blue, and felt oddly satisfied, knowing he was so conscious of her.

Why she should feel that way, she did not know or investigate. She was contented with her importance, and she moved towards him, a courteous smile on her lips, nodding in acknowledgment as she passed some of the guests assembled in the room.

“My lord” she greeted Sandor, offering him her hand. He took it without a word and bowed stiffly, and inside, he was searching for words to say. _She must think me a buggering fool,_ he considered, with a new wave of irritation.

I don’t, Sansa wanted to tell him, but it would make them both ill at ease to speak of it. He was getting better at keeping her out, but most of the times she could hear him loud and clear.

“Lady Sansa” he croaked at last, in a very poor imitation of his usual, cold voice.

“What do you think?” she asked him, determined to seek a compliment in a traditional way. “Of my dress, I mean”. This was the finest of the three dresses she had had made.

_Hasn’t she heard that already?_

“I have no taste for fineries” Sandor said, slowly, and suddenly his head was closed to her, his thoughts closing like petals under a rough touch. Yes, he was getting better, but his struggles were in vain – she had heard enough already before.

“But how do you look?” she insisted, impatient.

“Why do you ask me?” he barked, angrily.

 “I wanted an honest opinion” she said, quietly. “But it doesn’t matter”.

Sandor’s look was grave as it rested on her, and for a while, they did not speak to each other. Sansa had many to welcome, many to talk to, and it was but half an hour later that she considered the first part of her duty as done.

“It is too crowded here” she whispered.

“Come” he said, shortly, and they crossed the hall to an emptier spot. Sansa sat down on a bench, sighing in relief.

“I am tired. This room is way too hot” she complained.

“It was madness to hold a feast in such a time of the year. You should have waited for a finer weather. Then we could have kept the windows open” he told her, and she caught a small hint of irritation, escaping from behind his walls.

“Well, it had been a long time since we had guests and since you don’t let me stir from the castle to pay a visit or two…” she said, piqued.

“You may do as you think best, little bird. You don’t need my permission” he snapped at her.

_I only want to protect you._

“I know” she could not help telling him, although she knew he had not said it aloud. That silenced him for a while, as always. Sansa knew how much he loathed himself for not being able to keep her out of his head. Well, she didn’t mind disappointing him. She had expected a little more gallantry from him that evening, but he was ill-tempered, even more than usual.

She sat in silence, with her grim companion standing by. She did not ask him to sit by her.

Then she felt his frustration increasing, spilling out of his barriers right at her. Only, it was not her she was angry with. She was looking another way, but she could see what his grey eyes were gazing upon. The young Manderly, freshly shaven and almost shining with youth and beauty.

_He is looking at her far too much,_ she heard Sandor thinking.

Sansa blinked, but did her best to look unconcerned and struggled to get past her sworn shield’s defense. _Lord Manderly is a fool if he thinks the boy stands a chance. I’ll be damned if he touches her, even with a finger._

Lord Manderly was quite powerful in a way, his House always faithful to the Starks, in peace and war. Blood of the North was in Manderly’s veins as well, and an allegiance of that sort could please most of her bannermen. She knew that most of the young men present had come in hope to secure her partiality; Sandor Clegane, fearful and intimidating, served as a good shield against most of their attentions.

Sandor Clegane didn’t seem to like that. She felt the urge to stride right to Manderly and break his teeth with a well-struck blow, and she was quite sure that urge wasn’t hers.

She turned to him, and found him still casting a murderous stare at the young man, who seemed quite oblivious to his rage. She, however, was not, and his feelings were so violent she felt a little dizzy.

_What right has he to do it?,_ she thought. He treated her with coldness and anger, and yet he thought of her with a certain degree of… of possessiveness. It was not fair.

She sprung to her feet, feeling heat rush to her cheek.

“I don’t like It here” she said to him. “No, don’t” she added, as he made to follow her, “I want to be alone for a while”. She let her displeasure plain to be heard, and was pleased to hear he had caught it.

_What is it with her, now?_

Away she went before he could follow her.

Sansa was far shrewder than he could remember most of the times. She approached the table were servants were standing, serving drinks to the thirsty guests. It was near enough to the young Dorian Manderly. Sansa quietly asked one of the pages for a glass of wine, before turning towards her pray.

Her gaze met young Dorian’s for a split second. She turned away, looking dutifully shy, and as expected he approached her.

_Cersei was right on one thing: women_ do _have a powerful weapon._

“Lady Stark” Manderly bowed courteously in front of her, brown curls rolling to cover his eyes. He brushed them away carelessly, with such elegance as could no doubt charm a young, naïve girl with a head filled with stories about knights and princes. To Sansa, it looked a little too much like the arrogant grace Joffrey had possessed, although there was no trace of mischief on the young Manderly’s face.

“Ser Dorian” she said, extending her hand for him to kiss it. She called him ser, and he was a knight, having earned his spurs some days before, on a visit to the Umbers. “It seems that I must congratulate you on your knighthood” she said, eyelashes fluttering, beaming a smile at her young companion. It was the first time Sansa saw him since then, and they had never talked much, but the mere mention of his recent success seemed to melt him into merry pleasantry. To Sansa there was more than just the gratification of having pleased a guest; she could feel the pulses of a man’s rage, somewhere amid the crowd.

“Aye, my lady” he said, with a large smile. “I have had that honor from Lord Umber himself. We were together when we were assaulted by a band of Skinless Spawns, and he was so good as to say I had distinguished myself”. He bent towards her, conspiringly. “I killed seven. Would have killed the eighth as well, but Lord Umber thought we could get a good ransom from him. I wonder who would ever pay for a Bolton man” he added, disgust in his voice.

“I have no doubt that you should deserve such an honor” Sansa said gracefully. From the way her voice seemed doubled, echoing across the hall, she could tell that Sandor Clegane was close enough to hear her. He heard her words, and was frustrated.  “A _true_ knight, like those in a song” she went on, speaking clearly enough for both her hearers to catch every word, “is such a rare thing nowadays. Most men have quite forgotten what chivalry means”.

_True knights_ , Sandor Clegane thought, disgusted. From the way his thought ran smoothly inside him, like water in a river, it was plain he thought himself undetected by her. _Hasn’t she learned anything? Seven Hells._

“Quite so” Manderly agreed, nodding solemnly. “But, alas!, not all men are meant to be knights. The world has as much a need of farmers and merchants as of knights. The Gods have drawn a path for each one of us, and follow it we must”. _Aye, and my hand will follow my sword right thought your chest, if I find you near her again, you little bugger._

Sansa giggled. “I would not have taken you for a religious man, Ser Dorian”.

“Not as pious as I should be. I am a very poor worshipper, my lady. Most soldiers are. The Stranger is the only God we know” Manderly smiled lightly. _You’ll know Him soon enough. I’ll make sure of that._ Sansa hid a shiver. “I can have no difficulties in believing that” she told Dorian.

His smile grew wider as he took her hand again to kiss it gallantly. “And yet, when we find ourselves face to face with the Maid, we can’t but worship Her”.

She laughed and withdrew her hand, feigning modesty, but taking pains not to seem displeased. _Does she like him? Fuck him. He would be no one, if not for his bloody_ knighthood _._

Sansa figured it would be enough. She did not want people to talk, or to believe she had actually taken a fancy on Dorian Manderly. She chirped a few parting words, and joined a small group of ladies. She could not hear _him_ anymore. He had probably gone somewhere, to drink, or the Seven only knew what.

 

She found him later, sitting on one of the benches that ran along the walls of the Hall. As expected, he had a glass of wine in his hand, and was looking sourer and drunker than ever.

“Enjoying yourself, little bird?” he asked her, mockingly.

“I am” she said, with dignity, sitting on his side. “And you are not”.

“Have you been inside my head?”

“Yes” she challenged him. “I could not help it”.

“Of course you didn’t. Enjoyed the view?” he sneered.

“No need to be so unpleasant” Sansa said, coldly. “Since I can read your thoughts, I know you are not half as indifferent as you strive to look”.

“Oh, the little bird knows, does she?” he laughed, a hollow laugh, emptying the glass and raising it so that a servant could fill it again. They both waited until he was gone before they resumed their talk. “And tell me, girl” he said, then, his mind a spinning storm of rage, misery, and disgust, “what else do you know?”

“I know…” she hesitated. Should she speak? Perhaps she shouldn’t. Still, there had never been a chance to speak so plainly before, not since the accident that had disclosed his head to her.

“I know that you don’t like it when I speak to men” Sansa said.

Like a wounded animal he retreated behind a haughty smile that twisted his already disfigured features.

“Men?” he snorted. “Boys, green as leaves, and they fall just as easily”. _And yet they are still better than an old, ugly dog like me._

“I have never said that” Sansa said. “Never”.

That she should have heard even that last thought was enough to make his rage boil higher than ever. He drove her out of his head in one powerful blow of anger. She gasped, disorientated. He stood on his feet. “Enough” he said, in a low growl. “I’ve had enough”.

He disappeared among the crowd, which had noticed nothing of what had passed. Sansa looked at the empty glass he had put on the bench, and could not help feeling a little bid empty as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. Exams, exams and more exams came and went, leaving me tired and lazy. This chapter waited in a corner of my desktop for three weeks, and I don't really know if it's good. I just couldn't procrastinate AGAIN.


	4. ...but had to face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa decides to face Sandor about her powers.

Sansa was extremely nervous when she knocked at his door.

No response came from inside. The girl tried to  _reach_ him, extending her mind to touch his. She felt his presence, but nothing more. His head was safe behind such a thick wall of cold, bitter rage that it was impossible for her to hear him.

She knocked again. She was sure he had heard her. She was sure he knew it was her.

“Sandor?”.

It was late in the night. Everybody was asleep, except for the two of them. Sansa had waited for the castle to fall into the quietness of the night before setting off in search of him. She repented now that she had come without a cloak – that she had come at all. She wondered whether she shouldn’t go back to her rooms, but she shook her head.

_He is in love with me._

There was no mistaking it. What else could it all be about? Why would he think about her  _that way_ , why would he be jealous of a young ser Manderly, if not for love?

Maybe not a deep love. Maybe just a little infatuation. However, she had never doubted he cared for her. He was always with her, protecting her. Only, he also seemed to desire her, to want her. Sansa wasn’t sure about how she felt about that, but she was sure  _he_ disliked the very notion of being in love. He had mocked her so many times for her dreams of knight and kisses!

_And yet he must feel something for me._

And Sansa didn’t want him to be so hurt.

“Sandor?” she called again.

The door suddenly opened. The face of Sandor Clegane, as he opened the door, would once have terrified her. Even now, it made her nervous.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a low growl.

“May I come in?” Sansa requested, soothingly. For a brief moment it looked like he was going to slam the door right in her face. His jaw was clenched hard, and he was silent and still as a stone. “Please?” she added, in a hopeful whisper. Her eyes sent him a silent plea as well. “Please, Sandor?”.

She said his name, and it did the trick. He exhaled heavily, and stepped aside to let her in.

Sansa had never doubted he would find him drinking, and the four flagons of wine laying on the small table proved her right.

“What do you want?” he asked, and she started in hearing him so close to her.

Sansa bit her lip. “To talk. With you” she said. “Can – can we sit? Just for a while?”.

“Say what you will and leave” he growled.

Sansa pouted at that, and crossed her arms on her chest. “You didn’t have to leave like that. It is not my fault, you know, if I can read your thoughts”. He said nothing, nor did he move. Stone-faced he stood in front of her. She was not even sure he was listening.

“Why does it make you so angry that – that I know what you feel?” Sansa enquired in the end, impatiently.

“How I feel” he repeated. His voice was devoid of any kind of emotion, his eyes seemed almost dead.

Sansa huffed and stomped her feet on the ground. “Yes,  _what you feel_ ” she declared. “Why didn’t you tell me?”.

Sandor Clegane bared his teeth. It was a fearsome sight, seeing his scars tense almost painfully. Sansa felt her heart race madly in her chest, but stood where she was. “What I feel is none of your thrice-damned business, girl” he barked.

“It is, if you need to be all cross and disagreeable about it” she contradicted him. “And what for? There is no reason to be angry, only because – only because…”. She didn’t have the courage to finish that statement, for there was something close to a threat in his eyes, and buzzing from behind the walls inside him.

“Why are you here? What do you want?” he asked again.

Sansa opened her mouth… and closed it. She could not think of an answer.

“Why are you here, girl?” he insisted, his voice growing stronger and angrier.

“Are you in love with me?” Sansa heard her own voice ask, and she bit her lip, horror-struck.  _Why did I ask him? now he’ll yell at me, and I’ll be miserable._

Instead, he seemed to grow less ferocious, as if something was leaving him. He looked weary all of a sudden. For what seemed and felt like an eternity, his eyes rested on her, waiting for a deadly blow she didn’t mean to strike.

“You heard” he said, tonelessly.

“No” Sansa said, gently. “I figured it out on my own”.

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” she tried again.

He looked at her, bewildered. "You think I want your pity?" he spat out. "You think I'd beg for crumbs of attention? I have my pride, same as any other man, though I might not look as pretty as one of your buggering knights".

"Have I given you pity these days?" she asked, contemptuously. "I have done my best to be good and kind to you, to show you I don't despise you, or have you not noticed it?".

That silenced him. He stood there, watching her, and what Sansa saw was a desperate man.

"I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't mean to rob you of your secrets, and I wouldn't dare to scorn you just because you have feelings like any other man in the world" Sansa said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I can feel what you feel, have you forgotten? I can feel that you don't like having me read your thoughts, and it pains me, but I cannot help it!". A single tear ran down her right cheek, and she sniffed, rubbing her eyes to prevent any further crying. 

"Little bird".

She raised her eyes to him. He was standing in front of her, his scars tense, his eyes dark. 

Sansa tentatively reached for him. Her hand brushed his hand lightly, and as always, she could feel him. What she found him reminded her of a tight ball made of rags and leather, like the ones children played with in the yard, in Winterfell. Hard leather, consumed by kicks and by rolling on the ground.

When she touched him, however, something trembled under the surface - something like leather being unwrapped, hesitantly. The armour fell, and she could step inside him again, as if she had never left.

  
_"_ Forgive me, girl" he rasped. She felt his guilt just as much as she felt his thumb on her cheek, wiping away the wetness her tears had left behind. She may look inside him, but Sansa felt that she would never understand Sandor Clegane - sometimes he was hard, cruel and unforgiving, bloodthirty even, sometimes he was just a man, gruff and rough but gentle. 

"I do. I do forgive you" she answered.

He removed his hand, but she found she could still feel him.

  
_What_ _will_ _you_ _make_ _of_ _me_ _,_ _now_ _,_ _girl_ _?_ he asked, in his heart. She felt his tension, and a smile threatened to appear on her lips. He looked like a maiden during her wedding night, stripped of all her clothes and standing naked on front of her husband.  
"Go to bed, if you can, and rest" she said.  
"I  _was_  in bed when the little bird decided to intrude" Sandor said, with something resembling a smirk.  _You_ _could_ _join_ _me_ _there_ _._  
Sansa blushed. "I  _can_ hear you now, you know" she told me.  
"I know" he said. "I could sense you. Sometimes I can".  
She sighed. "I know it must be hard to you" she said, softly. "To have me there".  
He watched her, looking serious. "They are only thoughts, girl" he rasped. "I cannot control them, no more than you can, but they are nothing more than thoughts".  _And they_ _won't_ _harm_ _you_ _,_ he thought.   
"I  _know_ you will never harm me" she said, still red. "And just because I hear you - it changes nothing. I don't blame you for -" she stopped, confused.  
"...wanting you" he said aloud, with a bitter twitch of his mouth. "Aye, that is why I am still here, little bird. You are a good little lady".  _You_ _won't_ _kick_ _a_ _dog_ _out_ _of_ _his_ _kennel_ _,_ _no_ _matter_ _how_ _wicked_ _his_ _thoughts_ _are_ _._  
"No, I wouldn't. Because I know your worth, and I don't care about anything else" she said, honestly. She wanted him to know that. "I will be honest to you, Sandor. I owe you that much, and much more. For all you have done to me".  
 _I_ _don't_ _care_ _about_ _anything_ _else_ _._ Those words echoed inside him, again and again, as he examined them, trying to understand them. His mind was softer, his heart quiet. He didn't fear her anymore, didn't fear her presence inside him, much as he disliked it.  
"I should go" Sansa said.  
"Aye" he nodded curtly. "I will walk you back, see no harm is done to you".  
"No need" she said. And she anticipated his next sentence, that was already forming inside him, by adding, "I will be careful that no one sees me".  
Sandor snorted.  _You_ do  _hear_ _everything_ _,_ _now_ _._  
"Now I do. Because you are letting me" she said. She went to the door, opened it a bit, and peeked out. Everything was still. "I wish you a good night".  
"Go, little bird. You'll be seeing my ugly face on the morrow" he said, hoarsely.  
"I know". He would not leave her, she was sure. She could  _see_ it. She left him with a smile, and closed the door.

 

She woke up from a dream in the morning. She had dreamt that she was a wolf, and she was running in the wood, hunting. Sandor Clegane followed her on his black horse, and though she couldn't speak to him in her wolvish form, she guided him with her thoughts.  
She awoke, and memories of the past night flooded inside her. She felt relief.  _All_ _is_ _well_ _now_ _,_ she thought.  _He_ _is_ _not_ _angry_ _with_ _me_ _,_ _and_ _he_ loves  _me_ _._  
She yawned and stretched lazily, relishing the warmth of her sheets wrapped around her. She felt... She felt.... Quite cheerful. Happy, almost. It was a good thing that she had a friend like Sandor Clegane, who trusted her enough to open up his heart to her.  
 _And_ _he_ _finds_ _me_ _pretty_ _,_ she added to herself.  _Who_ _would_ _have_ _thought_ _that_ _?_  
She wondered briefly about what she should do. Should she behave like nothing had happened? Should she -  
 _What_ _?_ she thought.  _What_ _else_ _is_ _there_ _that_ _could_ _be_ _done_ _?_  
She could not find an answer.  
When her maid came, she chose the dress she hadn't worn yet.  _Will_ _he_ _like_ _it_ _?_ It seemed likely.  
She dismissed the servant soon, and sat down with a book. She supposed Sandor would not be up until late, and she didn't care to break her fast so early.  
Still, it was not long before she sensed him approaching, his mind buzzing with nervous expectation.  _I_ _will_ _never_ _get_ _used_ _to_ _it_ _._ _He_ _always_ _looks_ _so_ _composed_ _,_ _and_ _yet_ _he_ _feels_ _like_ _anyone_ _else_ _,_ she thought.  
"Come in" she said, as he raised his hand to knock.  
 _Of_ _course_ _she_ _would_ _know_ _of_ _me_ _coming_ _,_ he snorted inwardly.  
He opened the door, and she put the book aside. "I didn't think you'd be awake already" she told him.  
He had woken up half an hour ago, his mind told her, woken by a dream.  
"Oh!" she said, widening her eyes.  
"What?" he asked. He had been scanning her intently, admiring her sitting figure.  
"Your dream" Sansa blurted out, before she could control it. She bit her lip, ashamed.  
"What of it?".  
She saw his horse, galloping across the woods, chasing a red wolf ahead of him. "I dreamt - I dreamt the same dream" she said then. She had not wanted him to know, but she  _had_ promised him honesty. "Only I was the wolf" she added.  
He was surprised.  _Does_ _she_ _control_ _my_ _dreams_ _as_ _well_ _,_ _now_ _?_  
"No, I don't think so. But maybe I heard it from you" Sansa said, a little embarrassed, scratching her nose not very ladylikely.   
"I see" was all that he said. He didn't know what to make of that knowledge, and so he shoved it apart, in a very practical way.  
"Shall we go, then?" Sansa asked, changing the subject.  
She felt his stomach twist at the thought of food in disgust, but he merely shrugged. "Aye".  
Feeling his sickness had made her a little sick too, but she got up and strode past him, as he kept the door open for her.  
She broke her fast quickly, trying to shun out Sandor's nausea from herself. It was not easy, and he watched her every now and then, wondering what was wrong. She was happy to leave the breakfast table soon after eating.  
"I was wondering" she told him then, as they walked across the yard, "can you not hear me at all?".  
"No" he said. "Sometimes, when you enter me, I can tell you are there, but nothing more".  
"So" she said, thoughtfully, "if I decide to hear you willingly, you notice".  
"Aye. If I try hard enough".  
"Do you think" she said, stopping, "do you think I could make  _you_ hear me, if I tried?".  
Sandor pondered it.  _Perhaps_ _she_ _could_ _._ _Could_ _be_ _useful_ _._ _If_ _she_ _is_ _in_ _danger_ _..._ he processed it for a while,while they resumed their stroll. He didn't bother telling her aloud,she noticed. He knew she heard.  
"Jon made me warg into him, once, for practice" Sansa told him. "It was harder, since he isn't..." she coloured.  
 _In_ _love_ _with_ _you_ _,_ _aye_ _._ "It only takes practice, just like swordfighting".  
"Would you care to try?" she asked him. "If I can open up to you?".  
"Cannot be worse than to have my thoughts displayed in front of you, could it?" he shrugged.  
He wasn't overly fond of that idea, in spite of the usefulness of it. "You don't like it. Why?" She inquired.  
"Thoughts are meant to be private, little bird" he rasped. "You know that as well as I do".  _May_ _be_ _I_ _hear_ _things_ _I_ _don't_ _want_ _to_ _hear_ _._  
"I don't think anything you might hear would displease you" Sansa said, candidly.  
"Cannot be sure of it" he said. "But we will try".  
"Can we try... now?".  
"Are you so eager to have me inside of you?" he asked, his mouth curving slightly in the best impression on a smile his burned lips had ever made, and she didn't really have to read him to know there was another meaning behind his remark.  
Sansa eyed him with shock, and he made a sound that almost sounded as a chuckle.  _The_ _little_ _bird_ _is_ _quick_ _to_ _catch_ _my_ _meaning_ _._  
Sansa's cheeks glowed red. "You are shocking!" she squeaked.  
"You would know it better that anyone, wouldn't you?" he said.Somehow, having him tease her made it all easier - he was willing not to let her powers spoil his mood.  _He_ _is_ _trying_ , she thought, rather moved.  _He_ _is always_ _angry_ _and_ _bitter_ _with_ _everyone_ _,_ _but_ _he_ _doesn't_ _want_ _to_ _be_ _,_ _not_ _with_ _me_ _._  
"Yes" she said. "Come, then. Let us go to the Godswood. We will try".

And he followed her, wordlessly. He was meditating on what would follow, but a small part of him was also very, very focused on her behind as she walked in front of him, admiring the womanly way her hips moved at her every step.   
Sansa wasn't as displeased by it as she should be. H _e_ _doesn't_ _mind_ _me_ _prying_ _inside_ _his_ _heart_ _,_ she mused to herself,  _I_ _shouldn't_ _be_ _bothered_ _by such_ _a_ _trifle_ _._  
And so she went on, and let him watch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I'm making progresses with updates, as you might have noticed. This chapter is longer and, I hope, better. I hope so, at least.  
> Also, I want to thank all those people who left kudos and comments. I am shamelessly neglecting college & work, and all this feedback made me sure I wasn't wasting my time (I know, I am the worst student/employee EVER. Don't judge me).  
> Soo, thank you, all of you. I'll do my best with the next chapter, hope to post it soon - as soon as I can :D


	5. ...that changed you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa starts to feel confused about her feelings for Sandor.

"Lady Sansa" Ser Manderly greeted her, as she passed him in the corridor.

Sansa stopped and bowed her head, smiling, ignoring the sudden feeling of disgust gushing from the silent man behind her.

"Ser Doran" she said, kindly. "I trust your hunt was successful".

 _The idiot wouldn't hit a limping deer if his life depended on it_ , Sandor Clegane assured her sullenly, but the girl ignored him again, though she had to fight not to appear amused. Well, it was quite true that Doran Manderly wasn't celebrated for his hunting skills.

"Very much so, my lady, I thank you" the young man answered, brightening. _Seems the little bugger's quite eager to boast on his nonexistent triumphs_. "The woods are flourishing with game, and I was lucky enough to catch a few birds".

 _And there's another bird he'd like to set his cap on, I'd wager._ Sandor's annoyance boiled inside him, and Sansa found it hard to keep her smile cheerful and unaffected. "I am pleased to hear that" she told the knight.

 _And I'd be pleased to knock some of his teeth off_ , Sandor thought, spitefully. Sansa cleared her throat in warning, blinking innocently to Manderly.

"Perhaps the cooks will find my preys a welcome addition for the banquet" the Manderly boy suggested.

"Nothing could make me happier" Sansa said.

 _I could stuck some of his bloody pidgeons down his throat_ , _and see if he likes the addiction._

 _Quiet_ , Sansa told him. She had grown used to his silent remarks, but sometimes they were distracting.

Manderly bowed. "I quite forgot" he said. "The seeds you have asked for are on their way. Lord Manderly himself has sent for them in Pentos, and we might reasonably expect them in a month or two".

Sansa was pleased. "Tell Lord Manderly I am very happy he has managed the matter so well. My greenhouses are flourishing, and those flowers will be a wonderful addition".

 _The little cunt would have you believe it was all his doing_ , Sandor thought, when he noticed the young knight's smile fade a little.

"You deserve the best, lady Sansa" Ser Manderly  said.

"You are most gallant, ser" the girl told him.

 _You deserve to have is cock inside you, that is the little fucker's meaning_ , Sandor told her. _Upon my cold corpse. Does he think so highly of himself? His cheeks are as hairless as a babe's naked arse, and he calls himself a_ man _._ Sansa felt she might choke.

 _You are insufferable_ , she scolded him. _How can I be a proper lady if you make me laugh? I will offend him!_

 _Then do_ , Sandor said, not at all appalled by the notion.

 _I won't. Just keep quiet and let me do my duty_ , Sansa said, and addressing the other man, she exchanged a few more words with him before taking her leave.

When they turned around the corner she stopped and faced Sandor Clegane. "You really shouldn't be so hard with him" she told him, reproachfully, though in truth she wasn't half as displeased as she tried to look.

He snorted. "He cannot hear me, can he?".

"No" she had to admit, reluctantly. "But he has done nothing wrong".

"He wants to fuck you" he retorted.

She lifted an eyebrow. She didn't need to say anything, or even to let him hear what she was thinking.

"Aye, but that's not the same thing" he rasped, but he was uncomfortable.

"How?".

His mind set at work, looking for something that might sound reasonable enough, and found nothing. "At least I am honest" he snapped at last.

 _It is not like you had a chance_ , she muttered inwardly.

"Thinking yourself clever, is that the way of it?" he grunted.

Sansa bit her lip, disappointed. She had not sought him to hear that. She had forgotten to tune him out. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you".

He smirked. _Not nice, is it, little bird? Having someone hear your every thought._

Sansa blushed and started walking again, Sandor following.

In the last week she had made practice, trying to master her new powers. She was beginning to learn. She could enter him a little deeper,  although she had never taken control of him. It was enough, however, to let him hear her as well, though it was not easy.

"You are doing well, girl" he told her, reading her discomfort in her expression. He could not hear her mood, unless she chose to link them, but he knew her. "You will master it".

"Thank you" she whispered.

She was learning to close her mind to him. If she wanted to, she could stop hearing him, but she didn't. If he wanted to hide something from her, he could cloud his mind, and she would be left outside him. He had become better as well, but to say the truth, he hardly bothered doing it, unless his thoughts were of such a nature that she would blush in hearing them.

Which was still quite often.

Sansa didn't know what to do of that. It was a hard bite to swallow, knowing she could not give him what he wanted. Sometimes she worried he might leave her. _How long can he decide to stay with me, wanting me without hope?_

She really didn't know.

 

One of her maids had lit a fire in her chamber, and the warmth was overwhelming. Sansa huffed and moved to open the window, letting a fresh wind wash over the room.

One of her dresses had been neatly folded on her bed. Sansa began to strip, slowly. She undid the laces of the corset and stepped outside her gown, leaving it on the floor.

She removed the pins from her hair, humming softly to herself, and reached for Sandor's thoughts to see if he was annoyed at her for taking so long. He wasn't; he was staring at the wall in front of him, thinking of her - of how pretty she had been as she was speaking with Manderly, of how pleased he was that she couldn't care a damn fig for the _little fucker_.

She light shift she was wearing under it was no shield against the wind, and she began to tremble. She focused on her room again, and turned to the window. She went to close it, chilled to the bone, now grateful the coals were still burning in the brazier.

It was just then that she heard a small noise, so weak she thought at first she had imagined it, or that it came from the man standing outside her door in patient wait.

But no. Something was moving, something inside the chamber, and her throat went dry. She turned abruptly just in time to see something black   coming right at her, shrieking, and she broke out in a loud scream.

"Go! Go away!" she yelled, as the crow flew right to her face, croaking viciously.

"Sansa!" another voice roared, as Sandor Clegane broke into the room, sword in his hand.

"Take it off me!" she wined, trying to shoo the bird with her hand, and earning a few scratches back.

The man moved quickly. A mailed fist hit the crow, so suddenly she could hardly see it moving, and struck it dead.

She felt her knees tremble and threaten to give away under her, so she sought the support of his arm, knowing where he was without having to look for him.

"Are you well, little bird?" Sandor rasped at her, feeling her trembling.

"More or less" she answered shakily, extending her arms at him to let him see. He grasped her by the wrists, examining the marks the claws had left on the soft skin of her forearm. He touched one of them and she winced softly.

"You should wash them with water" he told her. "How did the damn beast come in?".

"It must have slipped in when I opened the window" Sansa said, "and must have tried to get out again".

"And you didn't notice?" he asked skeptically.

Sansa blushed. "I was... I was not paying attention" she stammered. "Not until I felt cold".

"I see" he said, watching her, trying to determine _what_ she had been doing.

Sansa bit her lip and looked down. Sandor did as well, and his gaze lingered on her chest, where the shift barely concealed her flowered breasts.

Sansa looked up again, cheeks aflame.

"What?" he snapped. "If you don't like being watched, next time try to be in danger when you have some bloody clothes on".

"I didn't have the time" she muttered, but her heart was quickening inside her again, for his eyes had not stopped wandering across her body, and his head was warming up with desire. She could feel it as if it was her own, and was quite overwhelming, in a way.

"I am not complaining" he said, with a low chuckle that made her skin tingle in a strange way.

 _Why is it that I don't mind having him look at me like that?_ she wondered.

"Don't you, now?"

She started in feeling his presence inside her, and looked at him, in wonder and confusion.

"You reached for me when the bloody bird attacked you" he said, as an explanation.

Sansa felt nervous. "I should wash these cuts" she said, changing the subject, and turning to the water basin that stood beside the bed. She wished he would leave her, giver her time to recover from her confusion.

She felt his presence behind her when he bent over her to take the clean cloth next to the basin, damping it. "I will do it for you" he rasped.

Sansa felt an secret shiver. "You don't have to" she whispered.

"No" he agreed. "But I want to".

Sansa let him brush the wet cloth over her left forearm, wordlessly, his hand circling her wrist, as always letting her sink deeper in him. He wanted her to, she realised. He wanted her to know his touch was not only out of kindness. He cleaned the cuts slowly, almost caressing her skin, watching her, waiting to understand how she would react to it.

It was queer, and she did not understand if the trepidation she felt was hers. It was hard to tell, when his own sensations were so loud inside her.

"The little bird is not afraid of her dog" he said.

"You know I am not" she answered.

"I don't understand you, girl" he said. _Why is it that you do not fear me?_ he asked her. _How is it you do not care if I lust after you?_

"I don't know. Maybe I am only - maybe it is because I can feel you so well" she said. "I know there is nothing wrong in it. I know, because I feel what you are feeling".

He took her other arm. "Would that I could hear you" he said. She felt his frustration. "Would that I could know what you feel".

He feared that she might not stand his presence, he feared that she might grow weary of it. To him, it was a mystery that she should tolerate him, that she should not mind.

To Sansa it was a mystery as well, and she was glad that he could not hear, or see her. It was a relief, and she didn't know why.

He was done, and threw the cloth in the basin, but he didn't release her. His grey eyes were fixed on hers. "You are beautiful" he said, for she would hear it anyway. "Pretty as dawn and summer, and more".

Sansa found it hard to look away. His thumb stroke her skin gently. "I am lost. You know it already" he went on.

"I know" she said, her voice unsure.

_And yet you don't flinch away from my touch._

She shook her head. "What are you asking me?".

"I don't know" he said, letting her go. "But bugger me if this isn't torture" he cursed.

"Do you wish me to set you free?" Sansa asked him.

"Do you want to?" he retorted.

"No" she said. "But I understand - I understand you are - you feel sad".

"I cannot have you" he stated. "You would never want it, would you?".

Sansa knew the answer had to be no. But she hesitated. There was something wrong, terribly wrong. Instead, she felt indignation. "Why should I?" she asked, and he froze. "You have let me read you, but you have never done anything to - to make your thoughts agreeable to me!".

"Don't see why I should" he retorted, eyes burning.

"Because" she stammered. "Because you want me, and you should try to make me like you, instead of making me feel bad about it, but you are too stubborn and grumpy and..."

His mouth covered hers abruptly, interrupting her.

It felt as if someone had hit her hard with Robert's hammer. His soul exploded into hers, loudly, and she gasped into his mouth. Everything he heard, saw, felt, every feeling, every thought, it was all hers. The burning desire he felt for her burned her, the desperate love he felt for her drowned her.

He kissed her with hunger, he kissed her with lust, as his burned lips moved on hers, trembling with the strength of his own feelings. For a split second she was Sandor Clegane, and for the first time she understood what that meant.

It meant darkness, the consciousness that he was scarred, broken, that no one would ever love him. It meant that he loved her fully, deeply, not because she was pretty, not because she was beautiful, but because she was Sansa Stark. He wanted to touch her to feel the warmth of affection and life, he wanted to kiss her to taste kind, innocent words on her lips, he wanted to be inside her to find her heart and beg her to love him.

Sansa had to fight to remember who she was, lost as she was on a million shards of feelings. She kissed him back because she liked how it felt, because his need was so strong that it was flowing to her. She knew how he wanted to be kissed, and so she kissed him right.

He groaned and kissed her deeper, his tongue reaching out for hers. She welcomed it inside her mouth, she let his hands wander down her back, on her hips. _I want her_ , he thought desperately, _I want her._

Sansa was so bold as to touch him as well, feeling his chest through his tunic. She knew he was aroused, could see it in his mind, could even feel how it felt to be hard, how it felt to crave a woman.

 _I am enjoying it,_ she realised. _I like how he kisses me._

She bit his lip, and felt a new wave of desire roar inside him. He pushed her harder against the wall, his hardened manhood pressing against her belly. She did not pull away - she didn't think she could.

 _He_ did, however. His mouth detached from her, and he was panting. "You will be the death of me, girl" he rasped hoarsely in her ear, releasing her.

She said nothing, trying to catch her breath again.

"I almost took you" he said, after a while. Despite the fact that he wasn't touching her any longer, she could still feel his arousal clearly. Every instinct in him screamed, begging him to kiss her again and fuck her. It was hard to fight them, but he did.

"What madness took you, girl, not to push me away on the spot?".

 _You could feel how I wanted you. You should not have pushed your luck_ , he added with his thought.

"I - got carried away" she answered shakily. She could still feel his burning need, and it affected her as well. _I want him to kiss me again_ , she thought, shocked.

He took a heavy breath. "I should not have done it, bugger me" he said. "I wanted you. But you know it, girl, don't you?".

Sansa nodded. She was still flushed, her heart pounding inside her chest, a strange feeling twisting inside her belly.

"You are inside me now, aren't you?".

Sansa nodded again.

"I want to fuck you" he snarled. "Here. Now. Hard. Can you understand what it is like, little bird? How hard it is not to grasp you and take you against the wall?".

"I feel it" she stammered.

"And how do you feel about that, uh?" he went on. He was shaking as if he had a fever, his eyes glistening with some furious sort of emotion.

"I don't know" she said, feebly.

Sandor gritted his teeth. He rested his forehead against the wall, eyes closed, breathing heavily. "If I didn't love you so madly, I would have had you" he said, his voice a throaty, hollow whisper.

"But you didn't" she acquiesced, softly. "Because you love me".

"Aye, that I do" he said, slowly. "And what good is it to you, to be loved by a dog?".

Sansa thought of touching him to comfort him, but she feared both him and herself. Instead, she settled for the truth. _I promised him the truth_ , she remembered.

"I liked it" she said, hesitantly, colouring deeply.

He turned to her, staring at her blankly.

"I liked - how you kissed me" she went on, feeling nervous.

Sandor Clegane would never had thought he would, one day, hear those words, Sansa saw. Inside him, all got bundled up, blurry and confused. He merely looked at her, like a simpleton.

"I - I wouldn't mind it, if - you - you kissed me again" Sansa said then.

"If I do, I am lost - and you as well, little bird" he said. _I could never stop once I tasted you again. You must know that yourself._

Sansa nodded. "I am sorry" she said, not knowing what she should be sorry for.

He strode to her and cupped her cheek with his big, calloused hand. "No, little bird. There's nothing to be sorry for" he told her. "Any man would want you as I do. Blame the Gods if you like, for making you the way you are, but do not blame yourself".

It was quite a speech, and more so since it came from the same man that had once been the Hound. The tenderness that she felt inside him was even more moving, and she felt that she would have kissed him without complaint, had he let her.

Instead, he caressed her hair. "Little bird" he rasped.

And then he was gone, and Sansa sat down on the bed, her head spinning, not knowing what to do, or think, or feel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been working on this for a while. Really hope you like this... and thanks to all those people that left a comment on last chapter! You are so nice :D


	6. ...that drew you to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of the kiss.

__That morning she did not expect him. She was sure he did not want to see her, not after what had passed between them. He would be cold again, and she could understand him, but it also made her miserable.  
So she dressed slowly and without taking pains to look pretty. Her maids noticed her ill-humor, but they knew better than to ask her anything. When they were done, they brushed her hair in silence, though Sansa could hardly stand it.  
It was then that she perceived him coming. Sandor Clegane was angry and miserable, but in a new way. His anger was directed to nothing, his misery rooted in love, and Sansa felt her heart sink in pity.  
He did not knock. He stood in front of the door, cursing himself for his own cowardice, and Sansa waved at her maids to dismiss them.   
 _Come in_ , she told him then.  
And he did.  
"Lady Sansa" he said, quietly.  
She rose to welcome him. "Sandor" she said, softly.   
And then silence fell, heavy and sad and unbearable. He looked at her without trying to conceal the storm whirling inside his grey eyes.... And inside his chest. He wanted to tell her something, but he could not decide what.  
"Will you be angry if I speak to you about - what happened yesterday?" Sansa said, gathering all of her courage.  
"No, little bird" he said, weary. "I won't". _I cannot be, not with you. I have gone too far, lost myself too deep for that._  
"Well then..." she hesitated. "Sandor, I - what happened yesterday - I -". She stopped to collect her thoughts. He wondered if she was about to tell him that she did not wish to see him anymore, of she wanted to finally send him away from her.   
"No" Sansa answered, hastily. "No, I don't. I won't. I don't want you to go".  
I don't want you to go, echoed inside him.  
"Sandor" she went on, heart thrumming in her bosom. She wanted him to feel better, she wanted this all to be over. "When you - kissed me,  I didn't mind it. You are my friend, and I would never dream of despising you for it".  
"I forgot myself. I should not have done it" he rasped darkly.  
"You did it because you love me. I don't... I know you don't lie. You never liked lies, and if you love me, I am all right with it!" she answered. "But I want - I want to be sure you are not so unhappy. I wish you'd tell me how to - how to make it better".  
"Can you make yourself love me?" he snapped at her. "Can the bird talk herself into loving her own dog?".  
"I don't have to try to love you!" she cried. "I do love you. Sandor, though it may not be the kind of love you want. I don't want to hurt you, but I don't know how to do it!".  
"I trusted you with everything, little bird. My thoughts even. I have nothing more to give you'.  
"I am not asking you to give me anything. I want to give something to you, but I don't know how" she said shakily.  
 _I don't, either_. He was looking at her again, but softly, and his heart was all for her, his thoughts all for her.   
"I don't want to hurt you" she whispered again.  
He touched her on the cheek, where tears were rolling from her eyes. "I want you more than I have ever wanted anything, girl. You know" he said, his voice hoarse. "But it does not matter. I won't leave you unless you want me to".  
"I don't" she assured him again. "But I won't play with you. I am not Cersei, I just..." she swallowed, "I want you to stay with me, and be my friend, and love me, and I don't know if I can do it without being cruel".  
 _You are not cruel, damn you. If you were, I would not love you like I do_ , he cursed inwardly. "I am yours to play with, girl" he told her. "Do what you will with me".  
Then she raised his hand and caressed his burned cheek, gently, slowly, every touch lingering. "I won't hurt you" she said. "But don't go, and don't be miserable".  
Then she went on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the mouth. It was just a touch, quick and awkward, but she felt the feelings that it stirred inside him.   
 _I am yours_ , he thought, but all he said was, "let us go".

 

  
That day and the following it all went on as usual. She spent her time with her brother Rickon and with the ladies, attended her duties as Warden of the North and lady of Winterfell. She sang and busied herself at her needlework, she smiled and say pleasant things, and most of the time Sandor was there.  
They did not talk much to each other. Some strange sort of silent truce had settled among them. He escorted her to one place of another, and guarded her during her meetings and social engagements, but he seldom spoke aloud, and even his silent remarks were mostly confined to thlkse occasions were some lord or another tried to approach her.  
It was not, however, an hostile silence. To say the truth, Sansa was amazed with the change that had occurred in him since that night when they had kissed. He was... Kind. Really kind.   
When they were alone, and she spoke to him, his replies were given without mocking or irony, and without bitterness. Though he was coarse and unrefined, and still angry at times, whenever he spoke to her it was with gentleness.  
His thoughts as well seemed somewhat different. No new outburst of lust or burning passion had followed. There was a languid numbness in him, as if he was drunk, or tired, or... Well, almost peaceful.  
Sansa had not felt so well in a while. There was no threat, nothing to shake her from her quiet routine. And it was good to have Sandor at her side, and to feel that he was indeed not going to leave her.   
Sometimes she thought of the kiss she had given him, though it had been only a small peck on his burned lips. She had felt something tremble inside of him, something that felt close enough to commotion. Sandor had not expected her to kiss him, but she was glad she had. He had never received any form of affection, but he deserved it. He had changed so much, and had done so much good to the people she loved, and he loved her.  
"Sandor" she told him the third day, as they were riding through the woods, Rickon galloping in front of them on his pony.  
"Yes, little bird, what is it?".   
"You are very quiet these days" she stated.  
"Aye" he said, not looking at her. _The girl has a question, but she doesn't ask it. Mayhaps she worries about her dog's reaction._  
"I wondered if you had thought of what I told you" she said. "About me giving you something, I mean".  
He shrugged. "Like what, a bloody castle?" he snorted. _Unless you plan to be in it and naked, I am not interested,_ he japed.  
Sansa huffed. "Why is it that men are so fascinated with nakedness? I don't understand".  
"What would you know of what a man thinks, aside from me?" Sandor asked, scrutinising her. "Been practising with mind-reading, girl?".  
"A little bit" she admitted, blushing, a little embarrassed that he should have guessed. "And they do seem to think about it a lot".  
"I should like to know who has thought of you" he said, calmly. I _t's been a while since I last murdered someone._  
"I won't tell you" she assured him. "But I really don't understand".  
"Have you never dreamed of some lad or another?" he enquired then."Never wondered how the Knight of Flowers would look under his armor?".  
"Ladies don't think of anything like that" she said in contempt.  
"And you are a pretty proper lady, aye. When you don't go around teasing dogs into kissing you". He spoke without ill will, only to mock her and make her blush, and she coloured deeply. "I did no such thing" she protested.  
"So you would have me believe you had never been curious to know how a man looks". He was sceptical.  
Sansa avoided his stare. "I have seen Tyrion" she mumbled. "When we were married, that is. The night we wed".  
He was annoyed that she had seen the imp, but he was not jealous. No man could be jealous of Tyrion Lannister, not even him.   
He snorted again. "He was not a true man".  
"Don't mock him. He was good with me" Sansa scolded him.  
He gave her a shrug. "And how did you find him?" he asked.  
"Queer" she muttered.  
He broke into a laugh. "Aye, I'd wager you did". He paused. "But to answer you, girl, there is nothing more inviting than a woman's body for a man. The softness of it, the scent... 'this not something a man could resist.".  
Sansa didn't know what to answer.  
"What about that brat, that Manderly? Did you not find him good to look at?" he asked after a while. This time, he did feel a little jealous at the thought.  
"He is handsome" she conceded. "But I don't want him that way. I have never thought of anyone that way". Which was not the truth, not completely. She had wondered once or twice about how it would feel to be bedded, but in her fantasies her husband had no features.  
 _Good. If you had, I'd flay the bastard alive._  
"I don't believe you would, if I loved him, and he me. You would never do it" she said, sure.  
"Aye, you know me well, don't you?" he said, his lips twitching. "Too well for my own good".   
"I don't think I will ever know you truly well" she said. "Sometimes I don't understand you".  
"Is that so, little bird?".  
"Yes. You are confusing at times. Sometimes you get angry at nothing, and sometimes you can take anything like a jape".  
Sandor glared at her. "Life is a bloody mess, girl". _And love is even worse._  
"I know" Sansa replied. She smiled at him. "But I am safe. You always see to that, so I don't mind".  
"That I do, little bird. That I do".

 

  
That night he dreamed of her, and Sansa shared his dream, for she had no choice, not in her sleep.  
They were in her bedroom, the dim flame of a candle the only source of light. She could see herself as he saw her, a pale body naked on the bed, with wavy, flaming hair sprawled on the pillows.  
Then she was inside her own body again, scrutinizing him. He was fully clad in steel, the snarling helmet hiding his face, but somehow she could see though it, and what she found was lust and love, fire and longing. Her heart was beating madly, but she was not afraid.  
He went to her without a word, and the bed creaked under his weight. His mailed hand touched her calf, but the metal was not cold as she had guessed it to be, nor hard. It seemed as though the steel had turned into flesh, his flesh, hot and soft.  
His eyes were iron as he removed his helm, piercing her with their intensity, their hunger. She could not move to cover herself - that was not her dream, but his, and she was nothing more than a guest in it.  
He bent to capture her lips with his, kissing her passionately, more than it had been the last time. There was nothing of his gentle side in it, only need, as his tongue reached for hers. She kissed him back because that was his dream, and those were not her lips, not really. He kissed her hard, and suddenly he was naked, and his hand as cupping her left breast.  
 _No, this is his dream, not mine,_ she thought. "Sandor" she said, and he stopped and looked at her, finally sensing her presence there.  
Then she woke up, shaken and sweaty. She could still recall the sensation of his hand on her chest, fondling her breast. Her lower belly clenched queerly at the recollection. Her body was tense, and oddly awake, in a way she could not explain to herself.  
It took her a long time to drift back to sleep.

 

  
When she avoided his eyes for the umpteenth time, his lips twitched and she felt his amusement.   
They were out on the battlements. Sansa had assured her steward she would check some improvements he had studied for the soldier's accommodations there, and that she should give her opinion on it.   
She had promised, but she was not happy to be there, especially not with Sandor Clegane. She was so very embarrassed she could hardly look at him, and he seemed to find it entertaining.  
She dared to steal a quick glance at him, but as she did, his eyes returned to her, and she turned the other way, cheeks burning.  
 _Seems like the bird cannot look at me, unless I am full-armoured, or full-naked_ , he teased her.  
"Stop it" she said, frowning at him. "I did not plan any of it".  
"No, that you didn't" he acknowledged, but he was still amused. _And yet you were there._  
 _Well, it was your dream that was inappropriate_ , she told him.   
"My own dreams. Couldn't fucking control them if I tried, so why bother?" he said.  
Sansa knew she was being unreasonable, but she pouted at him as if it was his fault.  
 _I wonder if the bird liked it as much as I did_ , he thought then.  
"Stop teasing me" she hissed, but stopped when she noticed his thought had soured. _Nothing fucking happened, girl, much as I wish it had,_ he said. _Was it enough to sicken you?_  
"That was not what I meant" she murmured.  
"What is it, then? Can't stand the thought of the dog touching you? Or is it because it was not me that was caught, but you?". His jaw was clenched hard, as were his fists.  
"I am _embarassed_ " she squeaked. "Can't you tell the difference?".  
He stopped then. They had gotten round the corner, out of sight, so he confronted her. "And what would you do if the dog did touch you, little bird? Would you not shy away from it?".  
Again, he was frustrated. It had come out of nowhere, so Sansa was not ready to fight it. He took one step and then another, approaching her. "Would you not push me away, if I was to try and touch you again?".  
Sansa felt a strange nervousness and a shiver went down her spine, as she retreated, until her back met the wall. He was too close, and she knew he wanted to kiss her again.  
She did not answer.  
"What, nothing to answer now? No words from the prudish bird?" he asked, huskily, and he was closer still, and her eyes widened at that.  
"Sandor..." she began.  
 _If I kissed you, would you let me?_  
He was only inches away from her, and she could smell his scent. He smelled clean, of man and leather, and she thought of when he had kissed her, of the way he had claimed her mouth.  
She said nothing, and so he pulled away. "We should go back, before I forget myself again" he said, tonelessly.  
"Yes" she told him.  
He looked at her. She looked at him. Their eyes locked.  
And then he was kissing her again, slamming her hard against the wall behind her back, and neither of them could tell how it had happened. His mouth had sought her, of that she was sure, but why, or how, she could not remember.   
Again, she felt him force his soul inside her. Again, she did not understand how she felt about it all - the way his body clung to hers, pinning her to the wall, or the way he moved his lips frantically over hers.  
But she let him kiss her. When his tongue slid inside her mouth, she let him. When his hand went around her waist and pulled her closer to him, she let him. When he glowled and pressed his arousal against her stomach, she let him.  
He was not thinking, only cherishing the taste of her, but it his thoughts were blurred and confused, his sensations were not.   
He wanted her. He had always wanted her. He wanted every inch of her body so madly there was no room for anything else.  
Sansa panted, her breath just as ragged as his. She did not remember pulling both her arms around his neck, but there they were. She did not remember his free hand getting tangled in her hair, but there it was.  
Sandor groaned as his arousal grew, filling her again, even more than last time. His hands clenched harder around her, without hurting her. "I want you" he rasped on her lips. "This is madness, girl".  
And then he kissed her again, and again, and again, sucking her lips as if he could drink her, and Sansa heard a strange, hoarse squeak - only to realise it was her who had let it out.  
Then, there was a noise, so loud they started apart, but it was only a man in the yard who had dropped a barrel of something. There was no one in sight.  
Her knees were threatening to gave way under her, so she drew a deep breath to steady herself.  
"It is confusing" she stammered, in a low voice. "When you kiss me". She did not know if he could understand her meaning. He was too self-absorbed, trying too hard to regain composure.  
"You will drive me mad" Sandor said, his voice throaty. "Seven hells, girl".  
Sansa swallowed hard. "It is confusing" she said again, as if it was explanation enough.  
He cursed under his breath. "Come. I'll bring you back, before..." he did not end that sentence, but there was no need.   
They reached the door that led inside the castle, but then she grasped his sleeve to stop him.   
"There is no harm in a kiss" she told him. She needed him to know.  
His gaze burned on her, as he stepped aside to let her past the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me a while, but honestly, I do not know if I am satisfied with it. Still, here it is!


	7. ...and fair bargains we made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people have enjoyed this story so far, I am truly happy! You cannot know how grateful I am for all your support!  
> This chapter is late. Bit I am always late, am I not? Please don't hate me :D  
> Actually, I have issues with this chapter as well. Of late it is harder for me to be satisfied. I wish to write at my best, and so I am nervous....  
> Anyway. Thank you again to you all, you have been all lovely in your comments :)

Sansa's cheeks were glowing red with embarrassment. Even without her mind-reading, she would have been terribly embarrassed at having Sandor - or any man, to tell it truly - looking at her like that. The insight she had on his mind, however, made it so much worse, and she could hardly sit still.

He was picturing their earlier kiss, recalling the way she had let him taste her.

 _She let me. She let me taste that sweet mouth of hers as if I was one of her buggering knights, damn her._ And he liked the way blood spread on her cheeks and neck, and even more knowing he had something to do with it.  

Sansa wanted to be brave, and so she lifted her eyes to him.

_Aye, girl, I know you are listening. Gotten used to it by now._

She lowered her eyes again, too conscious to answer him, even in the privacy of their minds. Yes, she had let him. Again. She did not know how she should face him all evening after that, or on the morrow.

_I should not have let him. I should not, even the first time. It makes everything so strange!_

She had kissed men before. Theon, when they were just children, had kissed her once, after she had asked him. Only a small kiss, but back then, it had seemed daring and exciting. After that, she had kissed many more. Joffrey, when they were bethroted. Tyrion, when they had married. Ser Dontos, when she had wanted him to save him, and then Sweetrobin and Littlefinger. Those had been the worst, deep and wet, but never exciting, never.

 _I kissed them because I had to make them love me, not because I loved them_. But with Sandor Clegane it was different. She was fond of him, and she trusted him. And she could read him like an open book, because he loved her, and the connection between them was so strong. 

It seemed so much worse to kiss him than it had been with the others, and she did not want to use him, not when he had trusted her with everything, letting her inside him with moving openness, loving her with such rough tenderness.

She felt no signs of hurt coming from him. I am yours, he had told her. He had kissed her because he was always truthful, with his touch as well as with his words and thoughts. She wanted to be true to him as well, but she was not sure... She could not understand why she was feeling so confused, so completely unable to understand herself.

Why had she let him kiss her? Surely she was not in love with him. She dreamed of a man who was both beautiful and kind, refined and yet honest. Though it was not his fault if he had gotten those scars - and though Sansa herself barely minded them - he was not the man she had dreamed of. Well, that man most likely didn't exist, and Sansa had resolved never to marry again.  

Why was it then that she did not mind a man like him kissing her? He was scarred and coarse and angry, so she should not like it, not even if he was good and kind with her, not even if he was a friend!

He was still watching her closely. Still letting his eyes wander across her, drinking in her beauty, wishing he could touch her. And Sansa was still burning with embarassment because of it.

 _It is just a kiss. I have kissed many, many people before. I should not worry so much about such a trifle_ , she resolved.

Not even if Sandor Clegane was fantasising about grabbing her and kissing her there for everybody to see.  

She had not thought it possible, but she was even redder than before, and her hands shook slightly in her lap. _That blush suits you, girl. Makes you even more pretty than you are already_.

It was always amazing to her how he could be saying those things, even if he was not saying it aloud. He was not a romantic man, or a courteous one, but the simple way he said it was even more confusing. He told her those things without wanting anything in return, without confidence that she might be flattered or drawn to him because of it. He only said what he though was the truth, reconciled with the idea that whatever he had into his mind she knew already.

 _Thank you_ , she thought, opening their connection so that he might see that she was flattered and abashed by it. It would not be fair for him to share everything, when she shared nothing.

 _The little bird thanks me as if it was my doing. Did I father you, that I have anything to do with your looks?_ He laughed inwardly at the thought. _Though I am old enough to fit the part, I suppose. Not that it stopped that Littlefucker from making his move on you, did it?_

 _Petyr was nothing like my father... Or like you,_ Sansa answered, piqued enough to forget her distress.  

 _Aye, I know. Forgive me, little bird. I should not have spoken of him_. But he had, because the mere thought of his touching her made him angrier than anything in the world.

_I did not like it. You know it. I never liked how he touched me._

_I know, little bird_. In some small corner of him mind he wondered if she disliked his own attentions as much as she had Littlefinger's, if she hated him for them.

_I have let you kiss me._

_Aye, and you let that little bastard as well. Might be you are too scared to push me away. Wouldn't blame you for it._

_I am not!_ she answered angrily. _I would never deceive you that way._

But how could she resent him for thinking so? She had his heart in her hand. He might trust her, but he knew she could crush him at will. _How scary must it be_!, she thought, keeping that thought to herself only.  

_I know it, little bird. You are sweeter than that._

She bit her lip, bashfully, and forces a morsful of food down her throat. He was, however, still focused on her. _Would that I could see what is happening in that little head of yours._

_Nothing. Nothing worth telling._

_Nothing you want me to hear, you mean_ , he corrected her. His annoyance was plain.  

Sansa could not deny it, so she did not bother. _Nothing against you,_ she thought. That was the problem, wasn't it? She wanted to see his faults, to remember them, but all she could think of were the soft words he had for her, the love he had gifted to her.  

She needed wine, she decided.

***  
   
Sansa went to him later, after the feast, when music was playing and the halls rang with laughter. Honeyed wine tasted sweet at the back of her mouth, warming her insides and making her bold.

"The little bird seeks me out. Does one of her pretty boys bother her?" Sandor asked, filling his own cup with his favourite sour red.

"Dance with me" she offered abruptly, blushing at her own boldness. Couples were assembling for a dance, and Sansa longed to join them.

He put the cup down, incredulity plain on his face. "Are you mad, drunk or both?".  
"Why? I fancy this dance" she challenged him.

"Ask one of your suitors, then. They seem eager enough to grasp your pretty feathers and keep you for themselves for a while". He thought her to be japing, and did not find it entertaining.

"If I wanted to dance with them, I would have asked them" Sansa argued.  

He poured himself another glass of wine. "I am no dancer, girl. So why would you ask me?". _She is throwing a bone at her dog, may be. Ensuring I am sated for a while._

"Nonsense!" she cried. "I merely thought it would be fun to dance, that is all".

"With me?" he snorted. "Aye, a fine portrait indeed, the lady dancing with her dog. No, girl" he shook his head grimly. "That is not for me".

But Sansa could read him better when he was in his cups. "You are embarassed" she realised. "You are afraid of making a fool of yourself, isn't that it?".

"Nonsense" he said, mimicking her tone from earlier.  

"You are! That is why you don't want to dance, isn't it? You don't want people to look at you".

He looked stubbornly away, and Sansa bit her lip, disappointed. An idea came to her then, but she did not know if she was bold enough for it. She debated it for some time inside herself. It would be bold and foolish. He could take it the wrong way.

She thought of when he had kissed her, though, and she spoke, leaning closer to him to whisper, "if you do, I will kiss you".

He was surprised. His hand clenched around the goblet he was holding.  

_She cannot mean it._

"I do". She was burning in nervous expectation and embarrassment, but she held her ground. "I want to dance with you".

"Why?".

Sansa hesitated, finally realising what she was offering him. "Because - because we are good friends now" she murmured. "And I am happy about it, and - and I feel it would be nice if you danced with me".

It was true. She was... Somehow happy now that things were going well. She was happy that he loved her, that he did not meant to leave her alone. She was happy to have someone like him, caring so much for her. She could trust him deeply, and she treasured that, more than anything else in the world.

And she was drunk. Very drunk.

_I will kiss you, if you want me to. A kiss for a dance._

"No" Sandor said.

Sansa felt a sting of disappointment. Suddenly, she felt the urge to run away and hide. She felt refused and slighted, and ashamed of herself.

"I will go. I need some fresh air" she whispered, but when she made her way through the crowd, she knew he was following her, his mood stormy as usual, but more difficult to read than it usually was.

Outside it was dark and cold, but Sansa didn't care. She only wanted him to go away, sensing his presence behind her.

 _Is she hurt because of what I told her?,_ he wondered.

Sansa ignored him.

"Girl...".

"Go away. Please". Tears were hard to fight. She blamed the wine for it.

_Why would she care? Fuck._

"Girl" he said again, in a softer voice.

"Leave me alone!" she almost sobbed.

Sansa felt him grab her and yank her close before she could understand the intentions he had been nourishing inside. He kissed her, this time with less anger, but with the same hunger - a quick kiss, but passionate all the same in the way he kept her against him, firmly.

"This - It was not - What if someone had seen us?" She stammered once he released her, confused and flustered.  

"You promised me a kiss, little bird. And I am not the kind of man that denies himself what he has been offered" Sandor said. "Nor the kind that waits, when what he wants is in front of him".

Sansa felt so embarrassed and conscious she felt she might faint. "You are awful" she said.

He agreed inside, but without repentance. "Those fools begging for a crumb of your attention - were they not highborn pups, I would have gotten rid of them already".

_Fuck them. Bugger them all. I am more a man than they can ever hope to be._

"I don't care for them. You don't need me to tell you".

_But I do. I need you to say it over and over again, little bird, to say it every day until you believe it, until you train yourself to scorn them._

"And yet you smile prettily and chirp pretty nonsenses at them. Bugger me, little bird, you know what it does to me. You'd have me stand and watch as you cast your damned spell on them, but you know it makes my blood boil as if I'd drunk fucking wildfire". He laughed. "Bugger me. I am a fool, same as the rest of their lot, and you play me like a fucking fiddle".

Sansa didn't know why his words affected her so, but she shivered inwardly at those words, and the feelings that went with them. "I don't play with you".

"Aye, you do. Can't blame you for it. That's what your septa taught you, how to make men look at you, how to trap them in your pretty claws. You learned your lesson well". _And now you mean to have me as an arrow fodder for every smile you plan on shooting, and you know I won't fucking say no. Not to you._

He did not believe her to hold any malice in that, however. He did not blame her for any of it. There he stood, in front of her, hands clenching and unclenching, consuming her with the intensity of his grey stare.

"It would be cruel to do so" she protested in a whisper.

"Aye. You are cruel" he said. "I don't care".

His mouth found hers again, and again , and again. Quick kisses, harsh and greedy, his hands cupping her cheeks, and hers holding on his tunic for support.  

Good kisses, she thought dizzily. _I want my husband to kiss me like this._

Only then she realised that she had promised him _one_ kiss, not dozens of them, and it shocked her - the easy way she had submitted to his touch shocked her. Every time he touched her, his imposing soul seemed to loom over hers, shadowing her own thoughts. _Yes, that must be it, she thought. His soul is too strong._

She pulled away. "You promised me a dance" she told him.

He was short of breath, and without doubt very aroused. "Aye. A fair bargain. I'll do it, girl, if only to see those little fuckers' face when the Lannister dog gets to touch his mistress". Then he observes her closely, a hint of satisfaction inside his chest at the way her chest heaved, her cheeks glowed. "Might be the bird needs some more fresh air before of that" he said.

Sansa blushed. "Stop saying this sort of things!" She cried, indignantly. "Do you take joy in torturing me?". He laughed. "No. I take joy in having a sip of your sweet taste" he told her, a devilish grin twisting his face in an hideous-looking expression.  

She smacked him on the shoulder, and then regretted it, dreading the possibility of making him angry with her again. But he barely felt it - though Sansa's hand hurt afterwards - and chuckled. "Don't!" she squeaked.

"Come, little bird" he said, with a shrug. "You will be missed if we stay here any longer".

Despite those words, he leaned on her to kiss her one last time, passionately. A longer kiss. Sansa instinctively went on her tiptoes when he reached for her, his hands moving to her waist, caressing her sides. This time he was gentler, and inside him were not only flames, but something softer. He kissed her like a man kisses his pretty wife, not his mistress or his favourite whore. And he loved her, Sansa knew it. Enough to dance with her. Enough to kiss her like that.  

***  
   
When be led her among the other couples to dance, she saw eyes on them. Even those who did not seem to be watching, Sansa was sure, were observing them discreetly. Murmurs rose, and inside Sandor bloomed a new sense of uneasiness. _He is indeed embarrassed._ He did not understand the feeling, being so completely new to him, but there it was.  

Music started, drowning voices all around them. One hand on the small of her back, the other enclosing hers, he was unsure on how to move.

 _I will show you,_ Sansa thought for him to hear. She pictured the steps, and he mimicked what she was suggesting him, using her knowledge to know what he had to do. Being a warrior he was used to react quickly, and so it was not hard for him to move along with the music, following her unspoken suggestions.

Sandor moved tolerably well, given that he had never danced in his life. It was strange for her, to be thus deeply connected to him, and a little scary too. She had no shields against him. His grey eyes were fixed on her, but his mind was as well, syncretic to hers.

As he learned the steps, his movements became firmer. She smiled encouragingly at him. "You are doing well".

Sandor grunted something, but there was satisfaction and relief in him as well. He held her without trespassing property, but she knew what it did to him. He wanted more of her. He wanted all of her.

And he was the one holding her now, in front of everyone.  

"You could be a very good dancer" she considered, trying to focus on something else rather than on his burning feelings. "If you learned".

"I'm not likely to need it".  

_Though I cannot say I dislike habing the bird in my arms for anyone to see._

"I would gladly dance with you again if you did" Sansa said, refusing to be distracted.

He shook his head, swirling her around. "I am not made for this. I am a fighter".    
Sansa sighed, but said nothing.  

He watched her. _Beautiful_ , he thought. _And she is dancing with me._

 _There is no reason why I shouldn't,_ she argued. _You are no worse than other men._  
 _I am the worst of all, little bird. You, of all people, should know that._

 _All I know is that you are not the Hound anymore_ , she retorted. _And I would sooner dance with you than with anyone else in this room._

Sandor had no answer for that, but he gazed at her with such intensity mind-reading was useless in reading it - what he felt was there. Fire. Good fire.  

The dance was over soon, and a new one was about to begin - a merry one.

Before she could say anything else to him, Jaime Lannister descended on them with two or three of the lesser lords. They were all reasonably drunk and merry.

Sansa knew them all for being those with whom Sandor got along better, and she smiled. Friends or not, they would not dare approach him with such broad smiles if not for the wine. "Well, Sandor, I did not take you for a dancer. I must say I am impressed" Lannister greeted Clegane, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder with his golden hand. The others cheered in agreement.

"Lady Sansa asked me" Sandor said, gruffly.

"Come on, Clegane" another man asked. "The men are to go this way".

"I'm not dancing again" Sandor said.

"Come, come, Sandor, we must not disappoint the ladies!" Jaime said, not listening, dragging him away with the other two before Sansa could say anything.

 _Oblige them_ , Sansa pleaded, as the men assembled on one side of the room, and the ladies on the other. _Be good and do it. For me_. She wanted him to fit there, in Winterfell, and she let him feel it.  

_Why is it so important to you, little bird?_

_You don't need to be an outcast here._

_I am here to protect you, not to play the foppish boy._

_Please_ , she just thought.

He relented.

This dance was different. Men and women were all together, moving in complicated figures all around. Sansa again lent him her knowledge, and he danced, and she danced, sometimes together, sometimes with others. She was pleased to see that no lady flinched when the dance brought them together with the man once known as the Hound, though some seemed a little tense.

And then it was over, and he went to her again, and she yawned. "Tired?" he asked.  
"A little".

"Does the bird want me to bring her back to her rooms?".

"Later" she said. "I want to enjoy the evening". _Thank you for obliging me._

His eyes were burning her as he nodded.

 _A fair bargain_ , he thought again. _I would climb the Wall with my bare hands for a taste of you._

Sansa blushed. She was always blushing with him, of late. His bluntness never ceased to astonish her, nor did his eyes, the only handsome thing left on his face, and the truest one, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be studying but this is more important.


End file.
